


All We’re Fighting For

by DarkAbyss



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: But I felt like sharing it, Fluff, Gen, I wrote this for an internet friend, Introspection, M/M, One Shot, Post-Series, Romantic Fluff, Something soft and a bit melancholic, it's really just that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAbyss/pseuds/DarkAbyss
Summary: After the World Didn't End, an angel an a demon are left to figure out the Rest of Their Lives. The path is even more Ineffable than it had been before, an unclear horizon that might be a mirage or might be real. One thing is certain, though. Whatever will come for them, they’ll face it together.29/12/19 Edit:Reviewed & corrected (style wise too)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	All We’re Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> l’ve been wanting to write in this fandom for months now, but I’ve been too busy to go around and do it. Then, I got a present request on Tumblr and I just jumped on it, even if I could have done something easier or shorter xD
> 
> The title is vaguely inspired by “Paradise” by Within Temptation (the song doesn’t completely fit the show, but the chorus gives me some GO vibes).
> 
> I have so many feelings and ideas for this fandom...I hope I’ll be able to write some more soon! In the meanwhile, Happy Holidays, whatever rite you do (or don’t) celebrate!
> 
> Comments and feedback are welcomed and encouraged!
> 
> Enjoy!

In this part of the globe, winter means _cold_. It means icy air, pale sun, little light, long nights. It means snow, frozen leaves, bare trees, white fields. Life tends to dive deeply into sleep, to sink into a warmer, brighter dreamland, to forget itself until spring comes back.

And yet, hidden among the ice, the cold, the withering, winter hides the _warmest_ moments, hotter than a summer sun at midday, without being as uncomfortable. It’s the _softness_ of the seasonal clothing, scarves, hats, gloves and coats. It’s the sudden _thirst_ for hot beverages that everyone inevitably develops as the temperatures drop. It’s the way the snow muffles all the sounds and makes the air taste of _peace_.

The candlelight seems to highlight the smell of old books and wax. The shop is _littered_ with decorations of every sort, recalling the traditions of every land, of every age. From Christmas and Hanukkah to rites that are by now long lost in the haze of Time. It’s a carnival of wishes and rituals, some long dead, others still alive, all of them so _intense_ that you can’t which are still existing in the present and which have already faded.

It should look like a clashing mess, all those different colours and meanings and needs mixed together. And yet it doesn’t, and everything merges together in a soft, warm _harmony_ , just as the shadows of the dark corner slowly melt into the golden light of the candles. It is yet another wonder that Earth has to offer. The way in which, given the right amount of time, even the opposites can come together, even the things that should have _no_ common ground find some.

Crowley is sprawled on the old but comfy couch, basking the heat, metaphorical _and_ physical, of the atmosphere. One of his hands is wrapped around the cup of mulled wine that Aziraphale has prepared for him, while the fingers of the other are caressing the centuries old and yet still well-preserved paper of the letters they wrote to each other long ago, in one of their darkest moments. Those are memories neither of them likes to revisit, and yet the demon always experiences a melancholic _fondness_ remembering the written words that had _flooded_ between them.

Now, he would have lied if he had said that he _hadn’t_ been surprised to discover the stash while he was helping the angel digging out his seasonal decorations. He himself had kept the ones the Principality had sent, of course, but for some reason the fact that his Adversary had done the same had struck a chord inside him, leaving him unsure of how to deal with the feeling that had followed.

Everything is so _different_ nowadays, after the world hasn’t ended, now that they are allowed to _officially_ be on their own side, Heaven and Hell being respectively damned and blessed. It feels _odd_ for him to think that Aziraphale, in spite of everything, had used to care that much even back then, when he couldn’t admit it to anyone, not even to himself. As for Crowley, he has always been much more reckless than his Adversary, and he has admitted far too much during the centuries, to both himself and, at times, to the angel too.

“Is something bothering you, my dear?” Aziraphale’s voice comes from behind him, startling him back to the present. The Principality hasn’t missed the faraway look that has blossomed on his best friend’s face in the last few minutes. It’s unusual to have Crowley being so _quiet_ in a moment when they both know that his chattering would be welcomed. Whatever is heaving his mind clearly must be important. “You seem…lost in thought.”

“It’s nothing, really,” the demon hurries to reassure him, but the angel just offers him a skeptical look. Without his sunglasses he is much easier to read. A sigh follows. “I mean, I was just…It’s one of _those_ days when I almost can’t believe that we…that we _made_ it, you know. After so long and after all that we’ve been forced to go through…It’s surreal to know that we are _free_.”

The Principality’s expression softens and he takes a sit next to his Adversary. He can understand that feeling far too well. At times, he himself almost feels like he is living in a dream, being able to reach out to humans the way _he_ wants to, being able to be close to the Serpent without having to worry about repercussions for any of them. It’s at the same time so agonisingly _liberating_ and so blissfully _terrifying_.

“Yes, I _know_ ,” he murmurs quietly, taking a sip from his steaming mug of cocoa before setting it down with on the coffee table. Then, he reaches out and steals the demon’s one too, so that he can lean into him without risking any sort of spilling happening. His lips curl into a satisfied, slightly smug smile when he feels his Adversary’s arm automatically wrapping around him. “We’ve got time to get used to it. To _all_ of this.”

Crowley nods lightly, pressing his nose in Aziraphale’s soft curls. They smell like the sunlight the winter has currently stolen away from the land. “Yeah, all the time of his brave new world,” he agrees and makes to move his face away. He isn’t given the time to, though, because that’s the moment when the Principality looks up to him.

Their eyes meet and the shock of warm electricity that passes through them both is yet another thing they still haven’t completely got used to. Not because it’s new, _oh no_. The feeling is almost as ancient as Earth itself. And yet, at the same time, it is _new_ to being out in the open, blooming instead of being stomped over and repressed. And the _joy_ it conveys is almost too much, too bright, too deep to bear.

That’s why when Crowley’s lips meet Aziraphale’s they are reverent yet tentative. A caress of something that still tastes a bit like the _forbidden fruit_ and that most likely will never cease to feel as _exhilarating_. They chase each other’s mouths for a while in a lazy game of tag, savouring the warmth and the flavours they have to offer, until, eventually, the angel pulls away. He is almost always the one to break those moments, because he knows that, if it was up to the Serpent, they would spend the rest of _forever_ doing nothing but kissing. And maybe a few other things under the sheets. And the wily creature dares to call _him_ insatiable.

“We should go and visit Adam and the others, one of these days,” the Principality adds after they have elapsed into a comfortable silence. His fingers have found their way into Crowley’s fiery read locks, while the demon’s hand is gently caressing the swell of his side. “And we should bring presents. Perhaps organise a picnic. Tadfield is a _lovely_ place, after all. The perfect location of such thing.”

The Serpent hums quietly, tilting his head to be able to press his lips against Aziraphale’s jaw. “Yeah, I think they’d like that. Even Sergeant Idiot,” he agrees, but his voice is sounding distracted once again. “Not yet though. I wanna keep you all for myself for a while longer, angel. I’ve waited _six thousand years_ to have you in my clutches. I’m not ready to _share_ you.”

The angel huffs out a chuckle, pushing at his shoulder, but not strong enough to dislodge the skilled mouth that is now working his way down his neck. “It would be _cruel_ of me to deny you after making you wait for so long, wouldn’t it?” He muses, bending his head slightly to give his Adversary more space to work. “Besides, I wouldn’t _dare_ to take my chances at fleeing from the grip of such a scary, _evil_ creature.”

The demon pokes his side in reply to the teasing, but Aziraphale can feel his lips curling into an amused grin against his skin. With a blissful sigh, he allows his eyes to fall shut, so that he can fully enjoy Crowley’s ministrations. There are still many things they need to figure out and the threat of Hell and Heaven hasn’t completely disappeared from their horizon, but, all considered, eternity has _never_ look better than it does now, while he’s wrapped in his demon’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on [Tumblr](https://anartworkaconfession.tumblr.com/post/189859862741/hellsrhapsody-good-tidings-we-bring-for)!


End file.
